


Reverse It

by rolypoly_panda



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Diego Hargreeves Whump, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Family Feels, Gen, Graphic Description, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Diego Hargreeves, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Protective Allison Hargreeves, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Protective Luther Hargreeves, Protective Siblings, Season 2 Episode 10 AU, Whump, especially protect him from ME, five gets shot stays shot lets go, someone fuckin protect him jfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolypoly_panda/pseuds/rolypoly_panda
Summary: When the dust settles, everything seems okay. They won. The Handler is dead. And, once again, Diego seems to be the only one who has gotten injured, which is fine by him...That is, until Five collapses.Or, an AU where Five gets shot, andstaysshot.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone
Comments: 72
Kudos: 730





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All copyright content doesn't belong to me. All characters belong to Gerard Way and Netflix.

Diego had felt the tear in his side _before_ Luther had tackled him. Now? It _burned_ , a deep searing sensation ripping across his stomach, up the side of his ribcage, making it hard to move, to breathe, to even _think_ around the pain. He gasped, but tipped his head back regardless, trying to find Lila.

Lila.

His lovely, _lively_ Lila. Off-the-hinges Lila. Competent and bad _ass_ Lila. _His_ Lila...

God, he was in love. Practically wading in it waist-deep.

That was all that mattered. That was all _who_ mattered.

Lila.

His brothers and sisters - his first priorities - were alive. The Handler was dead. Five had scared off the Swede. And now? Lila. She was the last variable, the only constant in his life that was now more inconsistent than ever before. Diego _needed_ her. And she needed him, he knew. Even if she didn't know it herself, yet. They needed one another like a goddamn peanut butter sandwich needed bread and, well, peanut butter...

Diego caught her eyes. They were beautiful even when smudged with eyeliner, gorgeous even when lightened with tears and stress and exhaustion and _Jesus Christ_ Diego was in love with her. Everything about her. The way she dressed, the way she stood, the way she clung to the Commission briefcase like a feral fucking animal.

The way she looked to him one last time before disappearing in a blue pop of time-space...

Diego sighed quietly. His heart sank and flew at the same time, splitting in half to flutter above the clouds all whilst drowning its counterpart in his gut. She was okay. She _would_ be okay, he knew. Perhaps she just needed time. After all, her traitorous, kidnapping adoptive-mother had just gotten shot in front of her...

On top of him, Luther ground out, "I almost had her! Why did you stop me?" His brow twisted in silent frustration. He didn't look like he wanted to kill Diego, which was a plus, but he certainly didn't look _happy._

"'Cause," A lightness fluttered in his chest at the thought of her. He smiled softly and breathed out, "I love her."

Above them, Allison and Klaus were inching to the entrance of the barn. Klaus' lip curled at the Handler's corpse - only briefly - before he leaned over and whispered something to Allison. She barked out a laugh. They were arm-in-arm, wobbling a bit as they stepped outside and into the fresh air. Below him, Diego could hear Vanya and Sissy shouting, but it, surprisingly, didn't sound out of control. The hum of power rolling throughout the barn began to quiet with each passing second, the heaviness in the air lightening considerably. Diego took as deep a breath as he was able. His chest pinched him in protest.

Luther rolled off him with a huff. He kept his mouth shut as he shuffled to the entrance to stand with Klaus and Allison. Diego watched him as he went, instead content on lying very, very still. It wasn't a deep wound, but it still hurt like a bitch. A bullet had skated by him, earlier. He had been redirecting their path to save himself and Five from becoming hole-riddled pincushions for the Commission agents, but one had slipped by. It nicked him good enough to tear the flesh, enough to likely require stitches, but nothing so bad that he couldn't handle it. Besides, he didn't want to go and ruin the moment the others were having with his bitching and moaning. Because, for the first time in a long time, his siblings were at peace.

Their giggling trailed in over the rhythmic pulsing of Harlan and Vanya's powers. Using each other as crutches, Luther, Klaus, and Allison shuffled forward, lightly kicking snow with every step. It had been so long since he had seen half of them, so many months of fighting to survive alone, and it had been even longer since any of them had smiled. There was a weightlessness to their serenity.

How long had it been?

Twenty years?

Had it been back when they were ten years old, rushing down the halls to escape from the super soaker Ben had found in a dumpster and filled to shoot at them? Had it been when they were eleven, where the power had been out and, so, they had ran down the streets hunting down doughnut shops to stuff their faces until they threw up? Sure, that hadn't exactly been funny, but it had been one of the last moments when they were all together, laughing and smiling and lightweight in the moment.

It was one of the last times Five was still around, too.

And Ben...

Silence fell over the barn: no more gunfire, no more screaming from downstairs. Even the snow had stilled. Everything seemed picture-perfect for peace. Diego didn't want to taint it, didn't want to move and ruin it. Luther, Allison, and Klaus outside, and Vanya with her new family below him...

Only he and Five were left unaccounted for.

Diego flopped onto his stomach, swallowing his wince. He found Five easily.

Hovering off to the side, staring out the barn doors, his tiny brother seemed distanced, even from himself. With a glance, Diego would have guessed Five was watching the others as they stepped outside and took their breaths of fresh air. But Diego knew Five. He knew that distanced stare, knew that stiffness that worked from his jaw down to his locked knees. Perhaps Five was thinking. Or perhaps he wasn't thinking at all. Perhaps he was merely drifting in-and-out of awareness, settling down after such an extensive fight. Whatever the case, the old man was stuck in his own head, Diego knew.

They had all made a pact, months ago, back in their timeline in the twenty-first century: don't poke at Five. He was like a goddamn bear, all territorial and easily-irritable and double the amount of deadly when provoked. Diego hadn't missed his hostility, hadn't missed Five's rage. But he also hadn't missed Five's thousand-yard stare, his excessive drinking.

The little bastard was unpacking some shit, Diego knew. He always seemed to be. And with the life he led, it made sense. Though, Diego wasn't sure how to help...

Drive across the barn Five blinked fast. His breath clipped and caught in his throat, ripping a strangled sound out of him. Diego blinked up at him, frown pulling his expression tightly.

He knew Five, but he _didn't_ know what _that_ was.

Could it be a panic attack? Luther had told him about the time he had found Five in his stalker van outside the prosthetics company before it had burst into flames. He had looked panicked, according to Luther. Had looked lost, and scared, and while Luther was as shit at explaining as much as Diego was at mental health, neither of them were stupid. Or, for that matter, none of them were.

Panic attacks, flashbacks, drinking issues, rage...

PTSD. Right?

Five stumbled back, dragging Diego's attention towards him. He caught himself with a heavy hand to the wall, then swayed. Diego scurried to his hands and knees with a wince, watching as Five glanced between the others outside and his chest, attention flicking back and forth and back and forth and Diego's stomach dropped.

The last time that had happened, Five had been a moment's width away from collapsing in Harold Jenkins' attic. The last time that had happened, he and Allison had to try and cart him back to the academy, losing consciousness as fast as he was losing blood. Diego couldn't forget the sensation of his heart hammering just under his throat, a hard pulse, pulse, _pulse_ that made him feel like he was either going to be sick or going to scream. He had glanced through the rearview mirror a total of twenty-seven times, then. Twenty-seven flicks of his eyes. Twenty-seven moments where he was preparing himself to look up and find Five dead in the backseat. Allison, back then, had Five's head in her lap and her hand in his hair...

Diego pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. Once upright, he touched his fingers to the split in his shirt. Underneath, blood dribbled freely. It hurt, but he'd live. Because if Diego was good at anything, it was gritting his teeth and bearing the pain.

Just as Five was, too.

"Hey," He nudged his chin in Five's direction. "Five."

No response. Not even an acknowledgement came Diego's way.

In two strides he was at Five's side. "Five?"

"Number Two..." Five's voice was weak and soft, a sharp contrast to his usual high-and-mighty that Diego had half-expected upon walking over. Not only had he half-expected it, but he had half- _hoped_ for it, too. Hoped for the normal Five, the insufferable Five, the genius little bastard Five that would snap him into place. They were like north and south poles, two sides of the same damn coin; with one half not working right, Diego felt as if he were spinning out of control.

In place of the usual snark, Diego got a sideways glance and a too-slow blinked. Five's eyes were a hazy, murky color that had smothered the normal pop of green in his irises. He looked _tired_ , and while Diego could share the sentiment, there was something deeper to Five's exhaustion.

Diego asked, "You good?"

Five sighed.

Nothing followed.

Diego stumbled over his thoughts before mumbling, "Look, Five, I just want to--"

Five dropped, knees hitting the floor and eyes rolling back.

Diego lunged without thinking, snagging the back of the academy blazer's collar and dragged Five against his chest, easing them both to the ground in a heap. Diego's wound nipped him, sending a spark of pain flaring up his ribs. " _Jesus_ , man." With his arm bracketed across Five's chest, holding him fast to himself, he could feel the heat kicking off of him. Too much heat. His heart was thrumming fast and erratic under his palm. "Hey! _Hey!_ " Diego cried. Allison, Klaus, and Luther whipped around. "Get in here!"

Their eyes caught on Five and they began running, stumbling up into the barn and skidding to Diego's side. Together, they easily got him flat on the floor. Allison's hands were already pulling at his uniform, searching for a wound. Just like last time. Her fingers skated up behind his neck, over the crown of his head, carding through his hair...

Searching for a head wound. Smart.

"What happened?" she asked.

Diego shook his head. "I-I don't know, I don't know. He just--"

Klaus interrupted, "Diego, you're bleeding."

The sentiment was nice, but Diego couldn't help keep the bite out of his words as he growled, "I'm _fine,_ it's _Five_ you should be--!"

"Be nice." Allison hissed.

Diego snapped his mouth shut.

Behind them, Vanya shouted, "Hey, guys! What happened?"

"We don't _know_ _!_ " Diego whipped around to find her, Sissy, and Harlan rushing forward, various colors of concern on their faces. They reeled at his bark of frustration. Because goddamnit if Diego wasn't sick of not knowing what was going on. _Especially_ when it came to Five. He worked his voice gentler as he said, "We don't know. He just...collapsed."

Five was trembling on the floor, struggling to breathe, from the look of it. Allison hiked up the corner of his uniform as Diego made for his tie and the first button on his shirt. His fingers were shaking. Diego cursed under his breath.

Allison mumbled, "Wait a minute, that can't be right..."

But it was.

It _really_ was.

Taped to the skin just above Five's right hip was a bandage dotted with brown, dried blood. The gauze, the adhesive, the placement of the wound: just how long had Five been in the sixties?

For him, it had been months...

Allison peeled the bandage back, revealing a smoothly-stitched shrapnel injury.

Diego's jaw dropped a bit.

Days.

It had been _days_ for Five, hadn't it? Not months like it was for him, not years like it likely had been for others, he realized. No, it had been _days._ And, what with how irritated the wound looked, Diego would vouch that a week would be pushing it. Five could count his time in the sixties in hours, likely, and yet, he was running around as if he were perfectly fine...

At his side, Allison held her breath. She narrowed her eyes as her fingers slid further, pulling back more uniform. It bunched, obscuring Diego's sight, but from the way Allison's eyes widened, it wasn't anything good.

"Get his jacket off." She glanced up to him and Luther, yanking Five's shirt back down.

At Five's feet, Klaus stammered, "Wait, what? What's going on? Why are you doing that?"

"And his sweater, too." She pointed to it. Vanya dropped to a knee next to Klaus. Sissy ushered Harlan out of the barn.

"What's happening?" Vanya whispered.

Diego ignored them. He pulled Five's arms from the holes of the jacket. His wrists, his forearms...everything was mottled with bruises. The little bastard looked as if he got his ass handed to him with a baseball bat.

Luther reached around them and, in one movement, ripped the argyle sweater vest down the middle, off-center. It was likely safer than trying to wrestle him out of it, Diego knew, but when Five woke, he wouldn't be pleased.

Allison, however, didn't look concerned. As soon as Luther pulled back she popped a few more buttons on his shirt from the bottom. 

Diego held a gag.

He had always considered himself strong-willed. He had an iron constitution when it came to watching boxers bleed all over the ring. Diego had swept up teeth and blood and spit and sweat from an immeasurable number of athletes, and he had prided himself in being strong like that. Being unfazed by the gore of a fight.

But this? This was fucking _disgusting._

Five had been shot, that was for sure. But it were as if he had been shot _in reverse._ Diego couldn't explain it, couldn't make sense of what he was seeing because Five's clothes had been free of bullet holes. Yet the three shallow holes in his chest and upper stomach screamed gunshot at Diego.

With every ragged breath Five managed, blood welled from the wounds, pooling against his bruised, pale skin. The bruises themselves were the most startling to Diego, being so deep in shades of purple and blue that they almost seemed black. It made his entire chest look more garish.

With an off-beat thought, Diego realized that, perhaps, they _were_ black.

A moment later, his mind supplied him with the idea of internal bleeding.

It made sense.

"What the hell...?" Klaus trailed off.

Diego understood.

He, too, had been rendered speechless by the sight.

Before, Diego had thought the shrapnel would was bad. He thought that it couldn't get any worse, because there was no possible way someone could hide something any more extensive than that...

But he had been wrong, it seemed.

Just how long had Five been parading around with bullet holes?

Moreover, had some of the Commission's shots gotten past him? Had Five gotten hit because of him? Was he braving the pain of it for his siblings, for the fight?

Was this all his fault...?

Diego gathered Five up into his arms. He bit his wince as the graze wound tugged awkwardly. In his mind, he had no right to complain. Before, with the shrapnel wound, Five should have told them. But Diego should have noticed. Now, Five may have not had time to say anything. Yet, Diego _should have noticed._ He called himself a man of the night, fighting crime to save lives.

So much for that. He couldn't even save his own goddamn brother.

Allison and Luther were shouting at him to stop, to put him down, but Diego ignored them. He made for the house in quick strides: houses had first aid kits. They had water, and towels, and things that they would need should they want to keep Five alive.

It may have been Diego's fault Five got shot in the first place, but it wouldn't be his doing to let him die on a dusty barn floor. Not if he could help it.

The others were running behind him and flocking from both all sides. At one point, Allison's fingers were at the pulse point at Five's throat. But Diego could only focus on crossing the snowy clearing to get to the house. He couldn't think of anything else. Not Allison's hand. Not Luther's hovering. Not Klaus griping or Vanya's questions.

Not the wound in his side tearing further open.

"Shit!" He skidded to a stop in the snow before his knees could buckle underneath him. Diego sucked in a breath. Hot agony flared over his entire chest and back, creeping down to his hips, up to his shoulder...

"Let me carry him." Luther held out his arms expectantly. "Here. Let me--" He stepped forward.

"Back off!" Diego cradled Five closer. Five's head lolled off his chest at the sudden movement, snapping back. He stifled a sound of fear that crawled up his throat. 

Five hadn't responded to being jostled. He was completely limp in Diego's arms.

Allison held his upper arm firmly. "Diego," Her eyes swam in concern. "Let Luther help. If you drop him--"

"I won't!" Diego spat.

Luther hissed, "We don't have time for this..."

He rushed Diego. Luther scooped Five up and away and Diego's heart gave out to his screams as he shouted, "Don't _touch him!_ " He couldn't think. Couldn't see straight. He honed in on Luther, on _Five,_ who was painfully still in Luther's arms.

Luther was already gone, crossing the grassy clearing in half the time Diego had been making. Klaus and Vanya were hot on his heels.

Allison held one of his still-outstretched arms. "Come on..." She began to pull him towards the house. "Let's go."

Diego let her guide him.

Everything came in flashes as he tuned out to the world around him.

A flash, and he was listening to Allison as she said, "take a step, another step, one more step" yet he couldn't feel his legs.

A flash, and he was seated at the only remaining dining room chair, the others snapped around him like kindle to their shattered fireplace.

A flash, and Vanya was knelt before him, a rag in hand, asking, "Can I see your wound?"

A flash, and Diego was glancing over at the commotion in the corner. Five had been laid down on a sofa which, for the most part, had been intact. Sissy and Allison were working together, knelt before Five with towels and bowls. They would dip, ring the red-tinged water, and dab at his chest. Then rinse, and repeat.

What good would that do?

Diego's heartbeat slowed.

What good would that _actually_ do? Against bullet wounds? Against traveling through time twice in two weeks? Against stopping and apocalypse twice in those same goddamn two weeks. They were all so tired--

"Diego?" Vanya patted his knee. "Let me help you?"

His eyes fell to her. With his chin to his chest, he huffed out, "Fine." Diego maneuvered his clothes and gear enough for Vanya to be able to wipe the blood from the bullet graze wound. Every touch of the towel sent a new, sharp spike of pain through his torso, but Diego ignored it.

Instead, he zoned out to the rhythmic rinse-dab-repeat, rinse-dab-repeat from across the room as Sissy and Allison struggled to save Five's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to write something like this, so here it is. An AU where Diego's all angsty and protective of Five, because I go feral for that shit.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://itty-bitty-rampaging-committee.tumblr.com) where I make gifs of mainly Brelly but also intermittent Prodigal Son or Hannibal!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I only got about three hours of sleep so I'm not going to edit this; apologies if there are any major mistakes! I'm so fucking. tired. y'ALL.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All copyright content doesn't belong to me. All characters belong to Gerard Way and Netflix.

Hours had passed.

Then days.

By the time a week had rolled around, Diego was swallowing back vomit born of anxiety. Five had only roused a handful of times throughout said week, though never enough to be lucid. Things seemed to be getting worse, not better. Fortunately, Allison had managed to get Five to drink water and broths when conscious, apparently spoon or straw-feeding him with a gentle hand and even gentler patience. Those instances were likely the only things keeping him alive...

Tucked away in the now-repaired back bedroom, Diego's brother was withering away. Because regardless of the amount of care someone brought to the table, Five was wounded. _Badly._ After all, compassion wouldn't patch bullet holes. He had been eroded down to a husk, still being his small, scrawny self, but now with his ribs poking out from underneath the tightly-wrapped bandages, now with hollowed cheeks and a pitiful pallor. Sissy had given him her son's old button down shirts; they had fit Five perfectly despite Harlan being younger than him.

He looked a picture of death, apparently.

Diego had heard all of it through word-of-mouth. He was never out of bed long enough to see Five for himself. Instead, he had heard Luther and Vanya talking in hushed voices about their concerns as they hammered wood over the bullet holes in the walls. He had heard Klaus and Sissy explaining to Harlan why a strange boy was borrowing mama and papa's room. He had heard Allison whispering to herself, to _Five_ , from down the hall, asking him to wake up, to recover, to get them home because he was the only one that _could._ Sure, they had dozens of briefcases in their possession, but not a single one of them knew how they worked. Allison would talk, and remind him of who he was, of what he meant to them. Sometimes, on rare occasions, she would sing. The softened melody would carry down the hallway, and in the middle of the night, it had reminded Diego of when they were younger. Allison had always had the voice, had always had the skill to touch the high notes and skim the low ones, creating a beautiful sound with apparent ease. It had been enchanting, then, when they were kids, just as it had been, now. 

And Diego heard it. All of it. Every song. Every word.

But he never acted upon it. Hearing it was hard enough.

As much as he wanted to see Five, he doubted he would be able to live with himself either way. Either Five was recovering, and he would need to face him. Or Five was dying, and Diego would never be able to apologize.

A knock on the door of his borrowed room snapped Diego from his thoughts. He blinked, glancing up from where he was reclining on the bed, catching Vanya's sheepish smile. "Hi." She nudged the door a few inches wider and slipped inside with a tray. "I, uh, brought food."

Diego closed his eyes. _O_ _f course_ she did. Sweet Vanya always delivered him his food, but food was the last thing Diego wanted. His stomach twisted at the mere thought of trying to eat. Soup was all they were making in the kitchen, for the most part, though solids came through in passing, a rarity Diego never counted on. He was growing tired of soups, but he had the privilege to complain.

Because Five couldn't.

It wasn't the soup that bothered him. Not truly. It was the fact that they _had_ to make soups. The repetitive meals were the only things Five _could_ eat. They had no choice.

And that had been Diego's fault, after all...

He kept his disgust to himself.

Vanya set the tray down next to where his feet were crisscrossed at the end of the bed. Reaching over him, she grabbed another, older tray. That one had long-since gone cold from last night, a grey film left floating on the top. It cracked as Vanya moved it. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

Diego hummed in response. "Not really." he said plainly.

The thought of eating made him want to vomit. The _sound_ of Five _trying_ to eat had, too. He could hear the kid sputtering on the broths despite Allison's best efforts to thin them down and feed him as carefully as possible.

It wasn't her fault, though. She was doing her best, after all.

Vanya sighed softly. "Okay, so, I'll just leave this here, then. Okay?"

Diego couldn't look at her. He could hear the disappointment in her voice, just like he could hear _everything_ in the goddamn house. Diego didn't need to see it in her eyes, too.

His silence was taken as response, though. Diego deflated against the propped-up pillows as he saw Vanya drifting back to the door, the old food tray in hand. "Okay. I'll check on you soon."

And that was that.

Vanya was gone and Diego was alone, again. Left to stew in his own thoughts, he let himself drift off, thinking of the worst things possible because they were _easy to_ think about. It was _always_ easier to marinate in a slime of self-disgust rather than forgive himself for what he had done. For what he had let happen...

Five could be in the back, only a few feet away and down the hall, drawing his last breaths, because of him.

He could be wheezing, struggling to breathe, suffering, because of him.

Five could already be _dead_ , covered with the bedroom sheet or buried six feet below in the backyard, _all because of him._

They would never tell Diego that, would they? His siblings would let him believe, let him _hope_ that Five was okay because it was only thing keeping Diego alive, they knew. Did they know? Had they realized just how utterly _useless_ he had felt? From one failure to the next, Diego would trot along in life, never being good enough for anyone. He couldn't please his father. He couldn't save Eudora. He couldn't help Lila. He couldn't stop JFK's assassination. He couldn't even save his own _brother._

His emotions discombobulated him. Diego was reeling, feeling as if he'd tip sideways and tumble into an abyss despite laying flat in bed. Fuzz swallowed the corners of his vision. His breaths caught on something in his throat. Was he choking? Perhaps he had been punched full of holes as well. Would those, too, go unnoticed like Five's had?

Diego let his head loll back, his gaze shifting from the off-white wall to the grey popcorn ceiling as he forced himself to breathe. One breath in, another breath out. In, and out, again, and again, and again until it felt normal once more. Diego let himself absorb his surroundings, trying to find something to fixate on lest he lose his mind again in the 'what if's of Five's condition. Or his own, for that matter.

It was midday and warm, the sun shining in through the window at his right, heating his skin as a square of light crawled up the side of the bed. It felt good. Somehow, it reminded him of home. The academy had been sandwiched between two other buildings, but Diego had been lucky enough to be assigned a bedroom with a window close to the street. When the time of day was perfect, he would get a few minutes of hot sun inching through his room. Five had the same luxury back then, too, what with his bedroom mirroring Diego's. While his special time had been around six in the morning, Five's had been six at evening. They were dawn and dusk, back then. Now, Five was in the same position as Diego, only a few doors down, his bedroom facing East, just as Diego's was. Both became the sunrise. Did Five feel that same sunny heat that Diego did?

Did he feel anything at all?

He could remember reading something years ago, back when he was in his curious twenties: a handful of comatose patients could, in fact, hear everything. It had come about when he had seen, in an article from the Daily Times, that an elderly woman had been in a coma and had overheard everything her children were saying. They had threatened to sell her estate, to steal her property, to pull the plug on her for the sake of inheritance. In a satisfying turn of events, the woman had recovered and had taken them to court for talking shit, and the notion had gotten Diego so enthralled that he had decided to do his own research soon after. Research consisting of skimming a few Wikipedia articles and looking at one dot-gov website, that was...

But it was true. Comatose patients, on occasion, could hear everything. They could hear footsteps, could hear voices.

Could hear singing, too.

Diego wondered, then, if Five could hear Allison's voice reaching him. Did her singing reach Five the way his pain must have? Did Five even _feel_ pain? Diego knew he sure did.

The gunshot graze that had ripped open his side had been stitched and cleaned and was healing quite well. And yet, Diego felt weak. He felt sickly, rotting from the inside-out like a bad piece of fruit. His exterior was hardened but inside, he was blackened sludge. No matter how much he showered, how much he slept, the sensation never left him.

It was _infuriating_. And _confusing._

Because as much as Diego knew exactly what he felt, and why he was feeling it, he also didn't understand anything at all. Nothing made sense. He wanted to apologize to Vanya for his impatience day after day, and he wanted to see Five, wanted to _help_ Five however he could to make amends for what had been lost. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to run. He wanted to hide. There was nothing Diego wanted more than to curl up and disappear into the fabric of existence.

It was all so muddling that, initially, Diego chose to ignore it. But ignoring his feelings seemed to only make them worse. And he wasn't even sure what was talking to him and when: was it his heart, or his head? Sometimes, it felt as if they were both saying something, contradicting one another as one screamed, " _see him_ " while the other cried out, " _run away_ ". Other times, they were both silent, leaving him to sit and wait, and wait, and _wait_ for an answer. But what answer was the best answer?

See Five? Seeing him die? Seeing him pull through?

Or running, and not knowing which was the truth?

Both would result in failure.

Diego breathed in sharply. He couldn't move, not without feeling like he would die right then-and-there. He was torn down the middle, split between needing to go down the _goddamn_ hall, and staying right where he was. His heart skipped at the thought of seeing Five. It hurt, almost as much as it hurt to breathe. That, like everything, had been hard enough. Diego couldn't get his lungs to work, as if his organs had taken up trying out asthma. He felt as if he were drowning on land, suffocating from something he couldn't detect. Days ago, when he had woken in the middle of the night, Allison had assured him that he was fine. His wound was clean and still stitched, and his ribs were in tact. Yet, Diego couldn't _breathe._

Hours later, in the morning, Vanya had told him it was a panic attack. She had explained to him that she had gotten plenty throughout her life, and that they were nothing to be ashamed of.

Diego had shrugged her off.

It was likely just the trauma of his wound catching up to him, just as Five's had caught him. 

Diego sighed. He sank deeper into the pillows at his back and closed his eyes.

Splotches of blood spattered in his mind's eye, darkening his viewpoint before rinsing and repeating over and over again. If he waited long enough, Diego was sure he would see Five's corpse behind his closed eyes. Five's would be open and grey, the green of his irises cloudy with death, his skin white and cold and rigid-stiff. But those were all dreams, after all. Just thoughts. Mere outlandish ideas shouldn't bother Diego...

But Five had been riddled with holes. The injuries had made no sense.

So perhaps Diego's imagination wasn't far off, after all. Especially after all he had overheard.

The worst had been days ago, Luther had been on "watch". He had explained it all to Diego as he had dropped to the edge of the bed, a haunted expression leaving him blanched. "He almost died." Luther had told him. "I think...Five almost died." Apparently, Luther had been sitting in the rocking chair Sissy had dragged into the far room when Five had begun choking on nothing. "He...almost drowned. Or...that's what Allison said." Luther had hung his head in his hands, then, as Diego listened to his retelling. Some quick-thinking on his part had saved Five's life. Apparently, Five had been choking on his own blood. One of the wounds had worsened. The evening had ended with Five wheezing and Luther shaking after giving hasty mouth-to-mouth when Five had stopped breathing.

"It was terrifying." Luther had explained softly. "I-I couldn't get it out of my mouth."

At Diego's confusion, Luther's expression had darkened.

"The blood, I mean." he had clarified. Diego's body had felt weightless, then. "I couldn't get the taste of...of the _blood_ out of my mouth..." Luther had sagged over himself, breathing shallowly as he had zoned out to the corner of the borrowed room. Diego had followed his line of sight to nothing. Nothing but chipped paint and a wood trim. With a breath, Luther had added, "I didn't know what to do..." 

Diego had nodded, then.

For Luther's sake, and for his own. It was somehow reassuring to him to know that none of his siblings knew what to do, what had happened, why it had happened, or anything. Everything had been tossed up into the air within a matter of seconds on that first day, back in the barn. Sure, Diego would take someone knowing exactly what had happened and exactly how to save Five _any day_ over the unknown, but those answers simply didn't exist, and so Diego was willing to settle: none of them knew what the hell was going on, and it was like a breath of fresh air.

Or, at the time it had been.

Now?

Now, it hurt. It was agony not knowing. And all Diego could do was sit and wait and sit and wait and sit--

His door snapped open. It rattled on the hinges. Diego jerked upright, alert, breathless as his eyes caught with Allison's. She hung in the doorway, glaring over at him. " _Jesus_ , Allison. What the _hell?_ " He huffed hard. "You scared the shit out of--"

"Get up." she interrupted.

Diego's brain short-circuited for a second.

It was uncommon for Allison to become snippy in the first place, but to become snippy and _angry_ was an entirely different beast that Diego wasn't sure he wanted to handle alone. Gently, he asked, "Where's...everybody else?"

Allison steeled. "I said _get up._ Now."

She marched to his bed.

Diego curled up in defense. "Woah, woah, _woah,_ what are you doing--?" 

"Get _up._ " Allison snatched his soup tray from off the bed. Some steam was still rising from it, and it tracked like a smoke signal whenever she moved. "I'm _serious_ , Diego."

When he looked into her eyes, Diego expected to see grief, or pain, or some sort of helplessness that matched his own. Instead, he saw nothing but _rage_ in Allison's eyes, a heat burning her from the inside-out. Her face was flushed. She looked about ready to scream, or cry, or both.

Slowly, Diego unfurled himself and stood on shaky legs. His stitches pulled a bit awkwardly, but otherwise, he felt fine, physically. Mentally, though, he was exhausted. Emotionally, he had been drained long ago. He was tentative as he asked, "What're we doing?"

" _We_ aren't doing anything." Once he was stood, Allison shoved the tray into his hands. He didn't hesitate to take it from her, already knowing what was coming. Something about lounging around and not helping, about doing his part, about ' _we_ aren't doing anything, but _you_ are doing your own damn dishes'. It would be just like when they were kids, back when Diego had spent more time running from the dishes than _actually_ doing them. Allison sucked in a breath and finished, " _You_ are going to go see your _brother_."

Diego nearly dropped the tray. "I'm what, now?"

"Here." She wrestled a small spoon and a straw from her apron's pocket. Allison slammed them on the tray next to the soup. The whole thing rattled as Diego struggled to compensate for her aggression. She hissed, "You'll need these."

Her hair whipped her in the face when she heel-turned and headed for the door.

Diego sputtered after her. "Wait! _Woah,_ Allison! Slow down! _Seriously._ I can't just--!"

"Why not?" She flipped around.

He gaped. "I--Well, I--...It's just that I--"

Allison folded her arms tightly over her chest. "We've all done our part, Diego. _Now?_ It's your turn." She flipped around and flung open the door for him. "Room's down the hall. Last door on the left. Quit freeloading and go help Five."

Diego couldn't get his legs to move. His limbs locked stiff, his chest seizing up. Allison seemed to notice. Her expression quieted to something more akin to confusion than frustration. Diego adjusted the tray in his grip. Then again. And once more, because his hands were sweating so bad that he was afraid he'd drop the thing the moment he began moving again. "Okay." He sucked in a breath. "Okay, okay..." She was right. He needed to face Five. He needed to see if the little guy was even still alive. That's what mattered, after all.

Allison took a step forward. "Diego...?"

His nerves were alight the moment her hand brushed his. He snapped backwards. Some of the soup spilled over the lip of the bowl. "No." Diego set the tray on the edge of the bed again and pulled back. "No, no, I'm--I _can't_ , Allison. I-I c- _can't_."

" _Diego,_ hey." Her voice was firmer, more to ground him than anything else, he figured. "What's going on? Talk to me."

But his tongue curled too tightly for him to form words. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_ and so instead Diego dropped, hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the flimsy lamp on the nightstand. Allison flew next to him, trying to catch his gaze despite him doing his best to avert. As soon as he could draw in a sizeable gasp of air, Diego mumbled, "H-How is he?"

"Better." Allison didn't hesitate. Diego exhaled sharply. He nodded, and she did, too. "A lot better, actually. Waking up more and more, and for longer amounts of time. Klaus said he was talking to him for about thirty minutes this morning..." Diego nodded again, almost hysterically, bobbing his head up and down so quickly that his teeth clanked in his mouth.

"Good." he managed to squeeze out. "That's good. Good. Okay. _Good._ "

Allison's brows pinched. "Diego, are you okay--?"

He leapt to his feet, nearly smacking her in the process. An apology died on the tip of his tongue. His stomach twisted. Another sibling. Hurt. Because of him. _Again._ And Diego wasn't sure he would be able to handle such a predicament.

He swallowed a strained little sound at the mere thought of hurting someone else.

Diego's hands were rattling as he picked up the soup tray once again, turned to Allison, and said, "Okay, let's go." His feet were moving on their own as he stepped out of his borrowed room and into the hallway. The damn thing stretched on forever, elongating and darkening and thrumming in-time with Diego's jumpy pulse. "Okay. Okay." He nodded, then walked.

In honesty, Diego had no _idea_ what he was doing. He didn't want to see Five, and he was as sure of that as he was that the sky was blue, or that the grass was green. Both his heart _and_ his head shrieked at him to stop moving, to turn around and _run_ because what if he walked in and saw a corpse? What if he walked in and found a skeleton? What if he saw something that wasn't Five anymore? What if his brother was a nightmare, some concoction of monsters from his dreams?

The questions swirled in his mind. His vision went fuzzy. Diego stopped short of Five's door. He flipped around, nearly smacking Allison again, and mumbled, "I can't do this."

"Do what?" Allison asked gingerly.

Diego shook his head. "I c-c-- _Fuck._ " He sneered at his own incompetence. "I c- _c-can't_ s- _see_ him, Al-Allison!" Once he could breath again, Diego whined out, "I _can't._ " It sounded pathetic to his own ears; he had no doubt Allison was feeling the same way.

If she had, she was doing fantastically of not showing it. Rather than prod at him, Allison nodded slowly in understanding. "Okay." She brought her fingers to Diego's whitened knuckles. He was gripping the handles of the tray so tightly that he felt as if he were going to come away with bruised fingers and palms. "We'll go together, okay?"

Diego didn't want to go.

No, he wanted to _run_.

But Allison was blocking his only escape. He was completely at her mercy. Without further hesitation, Allison looked him deep in the eye as she reached by him and pressed her hand flat to Five's door. It opened with a soft creak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...so yeah I want to have another chapter pop out of this. My bad. Sorry!
> 
>  _Anyhoo_ thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! _And_ by the way, I see every single comment you guys leave me. I can't respond on here for personal reasons, but I'd love to chitchat with you guys on Tumblr. Regardless, I love your comments here. They make my fucking day. Deadass. Find me [here](https://itty-bitty-rampaging-committee.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> Shoutout to [@margarita](https://margarita-umbrella.tumblr.com/), [@brizz](https://brizzbee.tumblr.com/), and [@candil](https://candiliam328.tumblr.com/) for being very cash money and telling me to sleep and not strain myself. I love them. But now my eyes are like...not opening so _goodnight_ to all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All copyright content doesn't belong to me. All characters belong to Gerard Way and Netflix.

Five looked...good.

But no, "good" wasn't the right word. It was a placeholder, a pathetic little substitute for "dead" because that had been what Diego was expecting: death. He had expected to walk into the room and see Five's corpse. He had braced himself for what he had concocted in his head, an inevitability of what he had been fearing for days, now.

And yet, there Five was.

He was breathing deeply, resting in Sissy's bed with thick, cotton bandages wrapped from his neck to his stomach. What was salvageable of his clothes were folded on a nightstand, surrounded by bandages and tape and a bowl of needles and thread and more things Diego wasn't sure he wanted to see. Five was pale and gaunt, sickly looking with his greasy hair and purple-y blue undereye circles, looking the complete  _ opposite  _ of "good", but he was  _ alive _ and, in that moment, that was all Diego knew. Five was  _ alive _ . He was  _ alive _ , and  _ breathing, _ here to see the next day, and the day after that, too.

Five was alive…

Diego sagged in the doorway, grabbing the trim for support. Allison turned, a frown pulling at her already exhausted eyes. "Diego? Are you okay?"

"I'm good, I'm good. I just--" What, though? What was he supposed to say? That he had given up on their brother, the only one of them who had been able to endure decades in the apocalypse? The only one of them who had broken through space and time just to save  _ them? _ In hindsight, Diego knew it was pathetic of him to worry. Five was strong, had always told them he had survived more than they could imagine, and it was true. 

But just the  _ thought _ that Five could die, that they had finally gotten him back after  _ decades _ , after mourning his death and giving up hope, only to have him come hurtling back into their lives…

For him to die without any words being said, without any apologies on Diego's part.

That had  _ terrified  _ him.

"Diego?" Allison leaned in. "I think you should sit down." She gestured to a group of chairs pulled up against Five's bedside. 

Diego's hesitation was obvious, even to himself. His head was empty, but his heart was swollen, full of guilt. An agonizing grief flooded his stomach, something he couldn't quite place. He was frustrated with himself for not coming by sooner, for not believing in his brother. Yet, at the same time, he was thankful he hadn't come by because seeing him _like this_ was hell. Five was always the strongest one of them, even if Diego would never openly admit it. The bastard was always so _big_ , brimming with life, chocked full of piss and vinegar, a force that even Reginald Hargreeves couldn't tamper down. Even as kids, he had always been the reckless son of a bitch that would rather jump in front of a bullet and claim heroics over letting someone else get grazed on the arm. At the time, Diego had thought it was because the little prick didn't care; he was showing off when he saved their lives, just as he was showing off when he beat them in relays, when he proved himself to their father time and time again.

Thinking of Five as a self-centered asshole had made the agony of losing him easier for Diego.

It had been the only way he had known how to cope.

After all, they had never held a funeral for Five. Their father hadn't even let them mourn. A day had passed, and Reginald had doubled their workload. A week had gone by, and their tears had begun as their hope had been lost. A month had faded into a year, and a year had dissolved into several, and before Diego knew it, the Umbrella Academy was disbanded with Number Five missing, Number Six dead, and Numbers Four and Seven moved out. As Diego had left to make his own life, he had forced himself to hate Five. He had been young, eighteen and full of spite, and had made himself picture Five living his life as a scholar, as a narcissistic piece of shit who made millions, having a posse of rich friends and girlfriends or boyfriends or whatever the fuck he wanted. Diego had forced himself to think of it, to _hate_ Five for it.

He had been a stupid kid.

To never have mourned his brother, to never have grieved like the others had...

It made almost losing him for a second time absolutely _excruciating._

A strangled sigh escaped from Diego's lungs. He made to cover it, clearing his throat. Allison already heard the sound, he knew, but she let him save face. Diego walked to the chairs, following behind Allison's lead. She sat first, the old wood creaking under her weight. Gently, she pulled Five's hand into her hold. It was bandaged, too, just like the rest of him seemed to be, and as she unraveled the gauze, a few small, slight scrapes and bruises made themselves known. The opened wounds didn't look infected, which was a blessing, because Diego was sure that, as he was now, Five wouldn't survive it.

Diego sat down slowly. The chair hissed. It grated his nerves. He tensed. His heart skipped, pulse hot in his veins and in a fit of desperation to just calm down, to just  _ breathe,  _ Diego's eyes fixed on Allison. On her hands, on her fingers as she gently massaged an ointment into Five's cuts. She reached around him, plucking a new roll of bandages off the nightstand and peeling the packaging back. As she began wrapping, starting from the center of Five's palm, Diego found her movements rhythmic, bordering on hypnotic to his weary mind. One loop, then two, and by three, Five' entire hand was encased in the gauze. She brought it up his wrist, then stopped, stretching around Diego once again to grab the scissors, cut, and tuck the tail end of the bandage in place.

"Pass me the antiseptic." Allison said, breaking the somehow-serene quiet. Diego flailed for a second before spotting it to his right, on the floor in between his chair and the supplies-cluttered nightstand. He plucked it off the floor and held it tight, staring on as Allison stood and pushed Five's bangs back. Underneath was yet another bandage.

Diego remembered that wound: his head had gotten bruised, and had been bleeding, earlier. From what, Diego wasn't sure. He never got the time to ask. Though, as Allison removed the bandage, Diego cringed. It looked painful, a blackening cut that had stopped bleeding past the tight line of stitches.

Allison held her hand out. Diego blinked dumbly down at her open palm.

"Antiseptic." she said, turning to him.

He quickly passed her the bottle.

She uncapped it, methodically pouring some onto the leftover gauze in her lap. Allison moved as if she had done it all before, precise as she cleaned the wound and carefully pressed another bandage over it. It amazed Diego, watching as she continued on as if Five hadn't almost died, as if this weren't their brother laying on the bed.

"--go? Hey, Diego?" Allison had her head cocked, angled to catch his downcast eyes. He was zoning out on Five's hand, still resting in her lap, he realized, and as his eyes flicked up to catch her gaze, he felt the embarrassment burning his cheeks. Damn him for being so _scared._ Though no animosity was on Allison's face. C uriosity was swimming there, pulling at her brows, deepening her pressed-thin lips, but no anger, no scrutiny. Her voice was sharp with concern as she asked, "Are you okay, Diego? Seriously..."

"Yeah." Diego answered, too quickly. 

Allison said, a moment later, "He's okay, you know. He'll be okay." She gestured to Five. "I mean, it's  _ Five _ we're talking about. He'll be okay..."

It _was_ Five. A lways angry, always strong. The vulnerability of unconsciousness didn't suit him. Weakness wasn't his color.

Though, maybe that wasn't a good thing.

Maybe the old bastard needed a break in his life.

Diego sighed, drooping over himself. He set his elbows on his knees. His gaze trained on the gentle rise and fall of Five's chest, and on each inhale, on each exhale, Diego found himself mirroring, relaxing. He breathed when Five did, and his muscles loosened as the seconds passed.

Allison set Five's hand back on the bed. "I'll be back. Need to get him some food for when he wakes up."

Diego hummed.

The only sign of her leaving was the click of the door latching shut behind her.

Humming quiet draped over him. Five was painfully still, completely soundless, where even his breathing was silent; did unconscious people hear anything? Could Five hear his and Allison's conversation? Did he hear the way Diego's voice wobbled, how there was uncertainty in his words? Or was unconsciousness just...black? Was it just a void, a nothingness that was timeless, seamless, a neverending _dark_ \--

\--just like death.

Diego snapped upright. His breaths caught. The chair clattered to the floor. Diego wheezed around the panic swelling in his chest as the fear took hold again and reminded him over and over and _over_ that Five had almost died, almost died  _ again,  _ almost died right in Diego's arms and it would have all been his fault that nobody even got time to say hello to him--

"D'ego…?"

Diego whipped around.

Five - from where he was laid flat on the bed - was sluggishly blinking over at him, a haze leaving his eyes cloudy, his focus wobbly. He didn't move, didn't even  _ try. _ Instead, he stared, tracking Diego's shaky walk. Diego tensed as he picked up his tipped over chair and plopped back down. He  opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to tell Five that he was looking better? That wasn't true. Was he supposed to say he seemed to be feeling better? Somehow, that felt like even more of a lie. God, he shouldn't be here. Five shouldn't be here, and neither should he, b ecause Five was bulletproof, even in childhood. But that wasn't true. Because Five had gotten shot. _Multiple times,_ too. 

Eventually, Diego managed to choke out, "You _look...tired..."_

Five let out a breathy sound, something akin to a laugh but bogged down with exhaustion. "I...I got  _ shot _ , dumbass…" His words were punctuated with deep, seemingly painful breaths.

Diego's jaw clenched in discomfort.

He couldn't do this. Five was alive, and that was all that mattered. The emotional mushy-gushy shit was more of Allison, or Klaus, or Vanya's speed. Hell, even Luther was better at this than him. He could remember the countless missions where the siblings had comforted one another. It had all seemed so natural to them, patting one another on the shoulders and backs and cheering on a job well done. Even Five had done so from time to time, pulling them to the front of a news crew to flash their smiles and waves. Back then, Five had been glittering with charisma and cheeky charm. The popularity polls had always been in his favor when they were younger, and rightfully so. He was smart, and strong, and witty. Five had been the cool guy who pretended not to care about anyone but himself and the mission.

But it _just wasn't true._ No matter what the press had said, no matter what Diego had convinced himself of as a teenager, Five cared _so fucking much_ about them.

When they were kids, Klaus had tried to kill himself, once.

They had all had their fair show of low moments, but Klaus had been weathered by it, had been chipped away until he was sobbing on the rooftop, threatening to throw himself over as the rest of them pleaded for him to stop. Even Vanya had been there, telling Klaus how much he had mattered, how much she needed him. Allison and Luther had tried to talk sense into him, and Ben had begun talking about the good times where they had been laughing so hard they cried. Five had come in, blinking to the edge, nearly tossing himself over in order to grab Klaus and teleport them to the center of the roof. Everyone had piled around Klaus, then.

Everyone, but Diego.

He hadn't been sure what to do, then.

Now, he was experiencing the same damn thing.

What was he supposed to say...?

Five closed his eyes. He shifted only slightly, but it was enough to pull at his wounds and scrunch up his face.

Diego hung his head. Slowly, he began, "I-I'm sorry…"

It took a minute for Five to respond. "...For what?" His eyes stayed closed.

"For...I-I..." Diego ground his teeth.  He pictured the words in his head, just like their mother had taught them.

_ 'I'm the reason you got shot.' _

_ 'I'm the reason you got shot.' _

"I'm the reason you got shot."

"No y'not…" Five mumbled.

Diego frowned. "I...Those wounds a-are from _bullets_ , Five. In the field, I--They must have slipped past me. I thought I got them all, b-but maybe I-I--"

"Th' Handler…" Five 's voice was hoarse and barely audible, losing strength with every syllable. "She...Sh' shot us. All of us."

"What?" Diego gawked. He was half-tempted to call Allison, half-tempted to slap his hand on Five's forehead and check for a fever. The bastard must have been  _ hallucinating _ . "That never happened."

Five's lips curved into a slight smile. "Precisely…"

"What are you even talking about?" Diego asked.

Five sighed. He peeled his eyes open with what looked like an exhausting amount of effort. "'s...not y' fault...Diego…"

As Five's eyelids fell again, his breathing instantly smoothed out, sleep pulling him under once more. Diego sagged back into the chair. Eventually, Allison had returned, soup on a tray. She had settled it at the foot of the bed - Five's feet couldn't even reach it, what with him being so small - and she had sat down. They had talked, had waited, had compared notes about what Five had said while conscious. Diego had pieced together Five's narrative slowly, always joining his siblings when they had went to Five's room in order to do so. Apparently, the Handler had gotten the jump on them, had shot them all - Lila included - and had nearly killed him, too, before the _Swede_ had shot her. It all played out like a shitty action film's ending, according to Five, but in the end, he had reversed time by seconds.

Days bled into yet another week, and by the third, Five was walking, albeit slowly, and was talking freely. The bruises that had braceleted his neck had faded - "These? They're from your _girlfriend_ , you moron. She stomped on my neck, the bitch..." - and the scars on his forehead and hands had begun scabbing over. Diego had made sure he was present when they were changing the bandages around his chest, needing to see the progress, the healing skin. Those bruises were darker and grotesque, but the bullet holes had sealed, leaving behind rough, circle-shaped scars in Five's lower chest and upper stomach. It had been relieving to Diego to see the last of the gauze come away, Five no longer needing it. It had been a breath of fresh air to find his brother parading around in his academy uniform once more, though with Harlan's old shirt to replace his blood-stained old one.

After almost a month, Five had announced himself ready to time travel.

They were leaving tomorrow morning.

Diego leaned back on the front porch, propping his elbows up on the top step. He watched as the stretching field swallowed the sun, bringing on the black night. A curtain of stars dragged up overhead, enticing Diego to count the stars, just as he had done when he was a kid. Sometimes, he would sneak up to the roof and try to connect constellations. The city's light pollution had made it difficult, but through the pinkish haze he had always been able to make out one or two.

Out in the sixties, surrounded by nothing but farm, Diego could finally see it _all._ Every star, every constellation. It was all for him to see.

He didn't even flinch as the front door shut behind him. Soft footsteps creaked under the wood, and with a sigh, Five settled down next to him. His movements were still pinched with pain, but he had come so far from when he had been on death's door. Diego regarded him with a quick glance. He, too, was staring up at the sky.

"Don't see this in the city, huh?" Diego murmured softly.

Five hummed. "Nope."

Diego asked, "You ever see this kind of view when you were, uh, you know--?"

"When working for the Commission?" Five raised an eyebrow to him. Diego nodded. Five continued, "A few times. Usually I was focused on my mission, but sometimes, yeah."

Diego nodded.

After a moment, he said, "Hey, I'm..." He turned to Five.

Five glared over at him. "'You're' what...?"

"I'm--...Look, man, I thought you were going to die. _Again._ And-I...Well, you _didn't_ , so..." Diego cut himself off before he could keep making a fool of himself. "Thanks for...not dying. Or whatever."

Lightening his expression, Five said, "No problem."

A serenity passed between them, then. Diego eased further against the porch, stretching out and leaning his head back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Five staring up, the shadows cutting out the sharp angles of his jaw, his shoulders, the thirteen-year-old baby fat filling out his cheeks again; he looked healthier, no longer the skeletal form on the bed, and Diego felt as if he could relax. For the first time in weeks, his heart was warm with contentment.

His brother was alive, and everyone was okay.

That was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient! This wasn't necessarily the ending I was trying to make, but I hope it's okay. Check out my other works or hit me up on Tumblr [@itty-bitty-rampaging-committee](https://itty-bitty-rampaging-committee.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> All mistakes are owned by the creature that inhabits my body at 1am in order to write this, or the evil cave creature that is me right now, because apparently I decided to edit this instead of working on a _Waiting for Godot_ presentation. Whoopsies.
> 
> Also...I may try and start...responding to people? I'm not sure, I'm always so scared someone's going to say, "YOU'RE INCREASING YOUR COMMENT SIZE TO MAKE YOUR WORK LOOK BETTER THAN IT IS" because...that has happened to me before. But _man_ I adore seeing you guys comment, and so I may just...try that. Sorry lol idk where I'm going with this. But anyhoo, thank you for reading!


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